


burns

by parsnipit



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Protective Grillby (Undertale), Self-Esteem Issues, Violence, but not this time im afraid, gaster is Soft in this one folks, grillby...usually gives it to him, he deserves everything good in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22487344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsnipit/pseuds/parsnipit
Summary: Gaster is beyond excited to finally visit Grillby’s club. He’s been wanting to for quite some time, but Grillby had always insisted the club was far too dangerous. Now that he’s actually here, Gaster’s starting to think that was just Grillby’s usual overprotectiveness talking. He doesn’t expect to be hurt at all!…he certainly doesn’t expect that it’s going to beGrillbywho hurts him.
Relationships: W. D. Gaster/Grillby
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	burns

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** violence, injury, self-esteem issues, some gross but brief rapey vibes from a Villain, some thoughts that could definitely border on abuse apologism, self-loathing, a lot of over-protectiveness, grillby’s Anger Issues
> 
> a/n: back at it again with some underfell!grillster!!! this one’s quite different from the flashpoint!verse, though. it’s based off of @z-artblog‘s wonderfully unique uf!boys, who you can find information about starting [here.](https://z-artblog.tumblr.com/post/189802110556/h-eadcanon-time-bitches-also-i-am-not-a-writer) their grillby is pretty similar to my usual grillby, but their gaster is brilliantly different, and i had a ton of fun writing him!!

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Gaster says, his eyes shining. He walks backwards in front of Grillby as he’s herded towards the living room, watching him hopefully.

“I said no.”

“Pleeeease?” 

“No.”

“Pretty pretty please?” He stumbles to a stop, and Grillby draws up short in front of him and huffs, refusing to meet his eyes. “For me?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Gaster reaches up, tugging on Grillby’s sleeve until his eyes finally swing around and find Gaster’s. “I know it’s dangerous, but I  _ also  _ know you’d never let anything happen to me. Nobody’s gonna hurt me while you’re around, so there’s nothing to worry about, see?”

“You don’t know that. Obviously I’d try my best to protect you, but the monsters there are unpredictable. It isn’t worth the risk.”

Gaster frowns, glancing down. “But I—I—”

“You what?”

“I’m lonely,” he admits, hunching his shoulders. “I miss you, when you’re gone. We don’t exactly work the same hours, you know? So I just—I thought I could spend some more time with you, this way.”

Grillby falls silent.

“Grillby?” Gaster peeks up at him. “It’s—if you’re really not comfortable with it, it’s fine, I don’t want to—”

“For a little while,” Grillby growls, poking him in the forehead. “A  _ very  _ little while, and you stay where I can see you, got it? I don’t need you getting kidnapped or some shit like that.”

Gaster beams, bouncing on his toes. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Grillby sighs, pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Stars, you’ll be the death of me yet.”

“This is gonna be  _ awesome!”  _ Gaster squeals, already darting for the bedroom. He has to wear something  _ handsome,  _ if Grillby is going to be showing him off all night. “Quick, get dressed, get dressed, we gotta  _ go—” _

If Grillby’s groan is anything to go by, he isn’t nearly as excited—but even so, he’s dressed and ready to go by the time Gaster is. His hands glint with the gold of his rings, and the thin chain around his throat gleams in the burnished purple light he gives off. The tail of his fur-lined coat snaps behind him as the breeze catches it, and Gaster has to trot to keep up with his purposeful stride—a feat which is _not easy to do_ in the heels he’s wearing. (But that stride does slow, some, when Grillby notices he’s struggling to keep pace.)

Gaster has chosen to wear a red sweater and dark jeans—it’s certainly more subtle than Grillby’s jewels and gold, but hopefully it’s still something that will still make Grillby proud to be seen with him (or, at the very least, not  _ ashamed  _ to be seen with him). He sticks close to Grillby’s side when they reach the club, and Belous looks on him with open surprise when he waves shyly at her. Grillby snaps his flames, and her eyes dart away again. 

Gaster flaps a hand at him in gentle rebuke as they enter the club. “Be nice, grumpy,” he chastises as the doors swing shut behind them.

“Hmph.” 

Grillby slouches over the bar as his patrons begin trickling in, his eyes sharp on all of them. His flames bristle more than usual, hot and unhappy, and Gaster feels...bad. Yep. That’s badness he’s feeling. He hates putting Grillby on edge like this. Maybe it really  _ would  _ have been better if he’d just stayed home, but he just—he just wanted to spend  _ time  _ together. So he’s not gonna let this time go to waste! He is  _ going  _ to get Grillby to relax and enjoy the night, damn it.

“Hey, handsome.” He waves a hand at Grillby, and his elemental drifts closer to him—although he hasn’t strayed more than five feet away from Gaster thus far. Gaster would be impressed with his vigilance, if he didn’t know it meant Grillby was just about buried under anxiety. “C’mere, I gotta tell you something.”

Grillby pauses in front of him, cocking his head. “What?”

“No,  _ c’mere.”  _ He motions Grillby closer. “It’s a secret.”

Grillby frowns, leaning down until their faces are mere inches from each other. “What? What’s your problem?”

Gaster kisses him. Grillby jerks back in surprise, his eyes widening, and Gaster almost expects him to  _ stay  _ back. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Grillby’s shirked showing him affection in public—but it seems, to Gaster’s absolute delight, that Grillby hoards no shame for him now. Instead, he leans back in, capturing Gaster’s mouth in a possessive kiss that has several of the patrons whistling at them.

“Enjoying yourself, baby boy?” Grillby asks when he shifts back, smirking as Gaster leans after him.

“Mm, I am now. C’mon, sit down. Talk to me. You don’t have to be so tense.”

Uncertainty flickers across Grillby’s face.

“Hey.” Gaster reaches out, taking his hand and squeezing it. When Grillby still doesn’t relax, he trails his hands lightly up Grillby’s arms to rest them on his shoulders, pressing his thumbs into the tense core there to try and knead out some of his love’s anxieties. “It’s okay, tough guy. I’m right here. You can relax.”

Grillby lets out a curling breath of smoke, but he  _ does  _ seem to relax some, after that. He sits and chats amiably with Gaster every few minutes, and he starts straying farther and farther away from Gaster’s seat at the bar whenever he feels the need to survey his patrons. Each time he drifts away to do his job, however momentarily, Gaster turns and chats with the other monsters at the bar. They don’t seem so bad! They’re not  _ nearly  _ as mean as Grillby’s made them out to be, that’s for sure. Grillby really can be so overprotective, sometimes. It’s not good for him. It makes him far too anxious, Gaster thinks. It’s not as though anyone here is actually going to hurt—

A rough hand lands on his shoulder, and he jumps. “Hey, there, buddy,” a low voice says. He whirls around to find a troll staring him down, their flinty eyes harsh and dark. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh! I’m Dr. W.D. Gaster,” he says, as politely as he can, although he _does_ have to resist the urge to lean away from the troll’s hand. That would be rude, wouldn’t it…? And he’d hate to look rude to one of Grillby’s guests. That sort of thing is bound to reflect badly on Grillby himself, and Gaster would feel awful if anything he did shamed his darling. He wants Grillby to be proud of him, after all. He wants that so, so much—so he sits, and he bears the troll’s touch without complaint, and he smiles. “I’m Grillby’s boyfriend. It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

The troll laughs—a rumbling, rocky sound from deep in their chest. “Grillby’s boy, huh? You?”

“Mm-hm! I know it’s—heh, it’s probably not what everyone was expecting.” Gaster rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “B-but it’s been really great. Grillby’s really great.”

“You must be a helluva a fucktoy to tie that one down for more than a week.” The troll straightens up, looking him up and down in a way that makes Gaster...distinctly uncomfortable. “Don’t see much else to you.”

His cheeks heat. Shame bubbles in his chest. “I don’t—um, I don’t think—”

“Listen.” A crooked smile sprawls over the troll’s face, and they lean down until they’re on Gaster’s level. “Grillbz doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anybody; nothin’ personal, it’s just the way he is. If you’re smart, you’ll—”

“That’s not true,” Gaster sets, setting his jaw. Rude or not, he has to take a stance on  _ that. _ “Don’t say things like that about him. It isn’t kind.”

The troll blinks at him.

“Grillby is a good person,” Gaster continues in the sudden silence. “He just has a hard time showing it because people like  _ you  _ tell him he’s not all the time. It’s hard to be something good when everyone tells you you’re not, you know? So don’t say things like that about him.”

“Or what?” the troll asks, a sneer spreading slowly across their face. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Gaster’s eyes dart away. What  _ can  _ he do? There’s not much. (Not much, at least, that he’s  _ willing  _ to do.) “Nothing. I’m not threatening you. I’m just  _ saying—” _

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re damn right about one thing. You’re not threatening me. A bitch like you—” A hand curls into the collar of his shirt, hauls him up off of the bar stool. He yelps in surprise, bracing his hands against the troll’s arm, his eyes widening. “—couldn’t threaten a lamb. Gods, aren’t you just _precious?_ I’ll show you what happens to a soft, worthless piece of shit like—”

There’s a blur of bright light, a thump, and then the troll’s hand tears free of Gaster’s collar. Gaster yelps and stumbles when he hits the ground, but he flails his arms and manages to keep his feet underneath him. His eyes dart frantically around the room until they land on the troll again—and when they find the troll, they find Grillby. He’s burning white-hot, only the faintest dregs of his purple visible at the edges of his flames. He bristles from head to toe, sparks snapping and flaring through the air, his savage black teeth bared in an ungodly snarl.

Gaster doesn’t have to speak—barely has time to think—before Grillby draws a fist back and slams it into the troll’s face. The troll howls, and then they drive their own fist into Grillby’s chest, stumbling him backwards—but not for long. Grillby catches himself against the edge of the bar and lunges forward again, his flames roaring with rage. They tear savagely at each other with fists and teeth, claws of stone and lashes of fire, and Gaster can’t see through the blur of painful light Grillby has become. The crowd around them howls with sudden excitement. The whole world smells like smoke. The air around him blisters.

“Grillby!” he shouts, his voice shrill with terror as he claws his way through the crowd. His bones rattle. Oh, stars, what if Grillby’s hurt? What if he’s  _ killed,  _ and all because of Gaster? No, no no no no—“Grillby, stop it!”

Grillby doesn’t respond—doesn’t even look like he’s  _ heard  _ Gaster. His eyes are all for the troll in front of him, the troll he’s carving into little pieces, the troll who’s already torn away chunks of Grillby’s core and left them spattered across the floor in molten fragments. That troll could tear him apart _ ,  _ and Gaster doesn’t think Grillby would notice until after the fact, because Grillby just  _ doesn’t stop.  _

Terror, Gaster realizes, tastes a lot like bile. 

Grillby sweeps a foot out, suddenly, and knocks the troll’s legs out from under them. He follows them down, pressing a hand to their throat, howling fury in the vicious pops and snaps of his native language. The troll shrieks in pain as their rocky flesh begins to heat and warp around Grillby’s hand, and Gaster?

Well, Gaster panics.

He can’t let Grillby be killed, nor can he let Grillby  _ kill  _ someone— not for Gaster. Not ever for someone as insignificant as Gaster. He gulps down his fear (oh, gods, it’s a fool who gets involved in an elemental’s fight) and lurches forward, babbling all the while. “Grillby—stop, stop it, sweetheart, come on, please. Let them go, just let go, it’s not worth it, they’re not worth this—”

He reaches out. He sets his hand on Grillby’s shoulder—it’s a painful mistake, and one he certainly won’t make again.

First of all: fire is hot, and Grillby’s burning fiercely enough to hurt even  _ Gaster.  _ His flames lash as Gaster touches him, and Gaster yelps and jerks his hand back, pain searing through his fingers and palm. But that isn’t the most painful part—nor is the most painful part when Grillby whirls and lunges and pins him to the ground. It isn’t when Grillby’s hand seizes tightly around his neck, or when Grillby snarls over him with all the anger Gaster’s ever seen in him. It isn’t even the sudden, savage heat that prickles at his vertebrae where Grillby’s fingers press.

No, the most painful part comes when Grillby looks on him with pure, unrepentant  _ hate. _

Panic sticks suddenly in the back of Gaster’s throat. His presses himself back into the floor, trying desperately to ease the pressure on his neck, his breath hitching in his chest. His eyes sting. He starts to shake. “Grillby? Grillby I’m sorry, don’t, please don’t I’m sorry I’m really sorry—”

Grillby blinks—and then, just as suddenly as he’d lunged, he tears himself away and stumbles backwards. His eyes flood with horror. His flames dim. He looks, if it were possible, even more frightened than Gaster is. For a moment, he wavers precariously on his feet.

“Grillby?” Gaster whispers. The sting in his eyes becomes an ache he can’t ignore, and he feels tears rolling down his face before he can even think to stop them. His chest shudders on each breath. He pushes to his feet, hugging himself. His wounded hand throbs where it brushes against his sweater.

Grillby takes a step forward, and Gaster stumbles a step back.

The troll makes the fatal mistake of moving. They take a single step in Grillby’s direction, and Grillby whips around in a whirlwind of flame, shrieking, “Leave us the  _ fuck alone!” _

The ensuing fireball is strong enough to slam the troll through the club’s wall and into the snow, where they do not rise again. Grillby’s shoulders slump and he pants heavily, staring at the brand-new hole in his wall. “Get out,” he says, his voice low. When no one moves, he flares his flames and roars,  _ “Get out!” _

Not a single person dares to argue. They flee the club in droves, scrambling around each other with frantic eyes and panicked words. Only Gaster remains, his back pressed against the bar and his hands trembling. Grillby turns to him, and Gaster can’t stop himself from shaking. His bones rattle, a terrified  _ click click click  _ of noise in the empty space between them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry Grillby I’m really sorry.”

A shudder rolls through Grillby’s flames. He doesn’t come any closer. “I hurt—I— _ fuck.  _ Fuck, how bad is it?”

Gaster shakes his head rapidly, scrubbing his eyes with his good hand. His bad hand is...bad, but it’s not terrible. A fine layer of soot coats his fingers, and a painful throb emanates from his palm outwards, but it could certainly be worse. It could be—it could be much, much worse. “It’s not bad, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Grillby’s hands tremble. “Can I see?”

“If—if you want, I mean, you really don’t need to it’s really not that bad you don’t have to do anything you don’t—”

“Dings, baby, breathe.”

Huh, he—is kinda of hyperventilating a little bit, now that you mention it. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a wobbly exhale. Grillby, too, takes a few slow breaths, and his flames settle some. He holds his hands up, palms out.

“I’m not gonna hurt you again,” he says firmly. Whatever terror Grillby harbors in his chest, he’s doing a damn good job of pushing it aside at the moment. Gaster feels so stupidly, selfishly grateful for that. “Nobody is. We’re safe. I want us to go home, and I want to help clean up the—” His jaw clenches for a moment, and he swallows hard. “The burns. But I don’t want to do that if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I don’t—I don’t want to leave you, you’re hurt too, you’re—”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. Do you want to go back to your house together?”

Gaster nods rapidly.

“Okay. I’m gonna come over there, then. Do you think you can teleport us?”

“M-mm-hm.”

Slowly, as though approaching a cornered animal, Grillby nears him. Gaster stays frozen in place, his eyes skittering across Grillby’s form. He seems calmer, now, less dangerous—a little more like the safe place Gaster has come to know and love. Besides, Grillby hadn’t meant to hurt him, right? So it’s—fine. It’s fine.

His eyes flicker across Grillby’s shirt, across the deep gouges through his core, and he feels sick.

Grillby stops, mercifully, a few feet away from him. He stretches a hand out. His flames burn low and dark enough to look black at the edges. “Take us home?”

Gaster reaches out, tentatively resting his uninjured fingers against Grillby’s forearm (cold, Grillby feels  _ cold),  _ and then he jumps. They land in his living room, and Gaster leaves his fingers where they are. Grillby’s flames don’t lick up against him the way they usually do. If anything, they seem to be leaning  _ away. _

A frown flickers across Gaster’s face.

Grillby draws his arm back to himself. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Sorry, I’m—gods. C’mon. You should run those burns under water.”

Grillby leads the way into the bathroom, and Gaster trails a few feet behind him. Grillby starts the water from the sink faucet, and Gaster sticks his hand underneath it and sighs in immediate relief. The cool of it feels blissful against his sore bones. Soots rinses off in a gray stream, swirling down the drain. When the water runs clear, he pulls his hand out and peeks up at Grillby, who’s been busily rummaging through their first aid kit.

“Here,” Grillby says, offering him a small tube of burn cream. “Do you want to put this on?”

Gaster...hesitates. There’s a tentativeness in Grillby that usually isn’t there, an indecisiveness Gaster rarely sees. Gaster doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all. “C-can you?” he asks, taking a deep breath. Grillby stares at him. “I—I mean! If you don’t mind. It’s just, I burned my right hand, and it’s kind of—kind of awkward with my left, but if you don’t want to you really don’t have to—”

Oh, gods, what is he doing? He’s being inconvenient again, isn’t he? He shouldn’t have suggested that. It isn’t as though taking care of Gaster is  _ actually  _ going to make Grillby feel better, is it? Come to think of it, what if it makes him feel  _ worse?  _ Stars know he’s going to be feeling guilty enough already, and all because of  _ Gaster,  _ because Gaster suggested going to the stupid bar, because Gaster picked a fight, because Gaster touched him when he was boiling with rage and didn’t know friend from foe.

“Yes,” Grillby says, and Gaster’s thoughts grate to a halt. “If you’re okay with it. If you feel—safe.”

Gaster offers Grillby his hand. Gently, his flames still as dark and cool as he can make them, Grillby accepts it. He tugs a glove onto his free hand, then smothers the burn on Gaster’s hand with cream and wraps it in a loose bandage. Next, when Gaster tilts his head to the side in a silent invitation, he wipes a damp, cool washcloth over the burns on Gaster’s neck. Once the area has been cleaned of soot, he smears on more cream and bandages that wound, too.

“There,” he says, his voice unusually quiet. “Better?”

Gaster nods. The pain has faded significantly—gods bless burn cream—and the aching terror in his chest has faded with it. Grillby isn’t going to hurt him again. Grillby has  _ never  _ hurt him before. It really was an accident. Of course, it’s...a little frightening that Grillby can lose control to that extent, but they can work on that! What’s important is that he isn’t simply going to  _ snap  _ if Gaster does something wrong. Gaster is safe with him (provided he doesn’t, you know, try to haul him away from an enemy again).

He knows better now. He won’t be making the same mistake twice.

“Now you,” he says softly.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Gaster sets his jaw. He certainly isn’t going to let Grillby bully him, now that he’s got his wits back. He refuses to be that afraid. “Now you,” he repeats, more firmly. “Sit down.”

“Dings—”

_ “Sit,  _ mister. Now. I want to talk to you, but I’m not doing it while you’re half dead on your feet.”

“I’m not—”

Gaster puts his hands on his hips and  _ glares.  _ Grillby, rather meekly, sits down. “Good,” Gaster says. “Thank you. Now, what have you done to yourself?”

He helps Grillby peel his shirt off, then kneels in front of him, running his hands over Grillby’s abdomen and side. There’s a small crater near the core of his hip and several jagged gouges across his stomach and ribs. Gaster’s (metaphorical) stomach churns unhappily, and he carefully packs fresh ember into the wounds before binding them with bandages. Grillby bears the process stoically, although Gaster knows it has to hurt him.

“Alright,” he says, straightening up once he’s done and offering Grillby his hand. “Up we get, big guy.”

Grillby takes his hand, although he doesn’t lean any weight on it as he stands. Gaster laces their fingers together and pulls him along to the kitchen, where he begins rummaging through their cabinets. Where is it, where is it, where—ah-ha! He snags Grillby’s bottle of butane, holding it out to him. “Here,” he says. “Drink up.”

“I don’t want that.”

“I know it’s gross, but—”

“No, Dings, I  _ really don’t want that.” _

“You’re hurt. You need the energy. Why don’t you…?” Gaster squints, peering up at Grillby’s face. Grillby’s eyes skitter away from him. “You’re afraid.” 

It’s a guess, but it falls sharp. Grillby winces.

“Well,” Gaster says, taking a deep breath and setting his good hand on Grillby’s arm. The flames curl nervously away from him, and a faint shiver rolls through Grillby’s core. “You don’t have to be afraid. You’re not going to hurt me just because you burn a little hotter.”

Grillby looks at his bandaged hand. “Am I not?” he asks grimly.

“That was an accident,” Gaster insists, “and only because you were in the middle of, you know, trying to burn somebody to death. You’re not going to hurt me just because you get a little warmer. Besides, I know you don’t feel good when you’re this cool. It would make me feel better if you—”

“No.”

“Grillby—”

“I hurt you, Dings! I’m not about to risk losing control like that again.”

“So, what? You’re just gonna stay this cool for the rest of your life? You’re gonna stay this miserable? That’s not fair to you  _ or  _ me. You don’t have to feel bad about what happened, and you don’t have to punish yourself. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You stopped yourself as soon as you recognized me.”

“But I didn’t recognize you soon enough. I could have seriously hurt—I could have  _ killed—”  _ Grillby’s breath shakes, and he clamps a hand over his mouth.

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re so sure?” Grillby laughs. It’s a wobbly, bitter sound. “You didn’t seem that convinced back in the bar. The way you looked at me—gods, Dings, you were  _ terrified.” _

Gaster hesitates, glancing away. “I mean, I—I—”

“Exactly. And you should have been frightened! I don’t blame you at all. What I did to you, it wasn’t okay. It was awful.”

“Alright, so it wasn’t okay, but I’m not mad at you for it. It was an  _ accident.  _ I was the one who startled you, so it’s my fault, anyway. And you wouldn’t have been put into that situation if I hadn’t begged to go to the bar in the first place, so—”

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ blame yourself for this,” Grillby hisses, smoke curling from the corners of his mouth.

Gaster folds his arms across his chest and glowers. “Well, I’m not just gonna sit back and let  _ you  _ take all the blame.”

Grillby growls in bitter frustration, his flames sparking just the littlest bit hotter. “It was my fault! I  _ burned  _ you. I—fuck, I held you down and I  _ hurt  _ you. I scared you. I sc-scared—”

His voice cracks, and Gaster immediately softens, reaching up to touch his face. “Hey. Hey,” he says, his voice laced with concern, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. It is the most un-fucking-okay in the world, I hurt—I h-hurt you, I hurt—” Grillby presses his hands to his face, his shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dings, I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry—”

Gaster makes a soft, sympathetic sound and wraps his arms around Grillby’s waist, squeezing tightly. He buries his face against Grillby’s hitching chest and tries for a soothing purr, although the sound catches in his throat. Gods, at this rate he’s going to be crying again. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Grillby, shhh, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to. You’d never do something like that on purpose—you were just scared, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t make it right! That d-doesn’t ever make it right, doesn’t—”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, running a hand up and down Grillby’s back. “We’ll work on it, okay? It’s not gonna happen again. Here, come here—” He stretches up, hooking a hand behind Grillby’s head and pulling gently. Grillby resists him for a moment, then crumples down and shoves his face into the crook of Gaster’s neck. His tears sizzle against Gaster’s sweater. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles again, tentatively wrapping his arms around Gaster. Gods, feeling how nervous Grillby is now tears at Gaster’s soul. His own eyes begin to sting again, and he turns his head, clicking a kiss across Grillby’s temple. “I’m really sorry.”

“I forgive you, if that’s what you need to hear,” Gaster says, smoothing his fingers gently through Grillby’s flames, coaxing them to coil up against his hands. “All forgiven, sweetheart.”

Grillby makes a wretched, miserable sound and squeezes Gaster more tightly. Gaster takes a deep, shaky breath and nuzzles up against him. Maybe things aren’t  _ okay,  _ and he knows Grillby is going to be terrified of himself for quite some time (even now, his flames flicker uncertainly against Gaster, dim and unhappy). He knows, too, that he’s going to wake up later tonight panting and terrified and he’ll cringe away when Grillby reaches for him because he remembers how very  _ painful  _ fire can be. He knows things will feel big and frightening and unsteady for quite some time, but—

But, well, he also knows that he loves Grillby, and there is nothing in the world that could get him to stop believing in Grillby’s innate  _ goodness.  _ Everyone can be good, if they only try, and Grillby is well on his way to be wonderful! Gaster certainly isn’t giving up on him. He’s never, ever giving up on this stubborn fool of an elemental.

Besides, everyone makes mistakes. And Gaster? Well, Gaster is inconsequential. It’s no wonder Grillby didn’t recognize him immediately. Gaster’s...always been easy to slip under the rug whenever it’s convenient. Not that he minds! It’s probably better that way, actually. It’s probably the reason he’s made it so long in this damnable world without being turned into something dark and cruel and violent.

_ Something a little bit,  _ his mind whispers malevolently,  _ like Grillby. _

Gaster silences that voice harshly. Grillby is  _ good.  _ He  _ is— _ he just needs someone to believe in him, and Gaster is more than willing to be that person. Even if there are a few bumps and scrapes along the way, he’ll be there. There’s pain in all love, after all, isn’t there? Everything is fine. 

Everything is...fine.


End file.
